The Vampire Dimitri

together forever.

Forever, Dimitri knew, was much too long to spend with any woman—including Lerina. And when he thought about it in that way, he was almost relieved that Meg had left him. Almost.

And so, tomorrow, when the sun came up and the last of the patrons left, Dimitri intended to bid farewell to Lerina. He’d send her off with a fat purse and three chests of fabrics, as well as the deed to a small house here in Vienna.

He looked up at that moment and saw Voss threading his way toward him. Voss had never been a particularly close associate of Dimitri’s, for he was much more interested in seeing how many women he could feed on and bed, smoking opium, and generally drinking himself into a stupor, but they’d played cards together more than a few times in London and Paris. He was charming enough, and didn’t grate on Dimitri’s nerves as much as unintelligent people did, but there was one problem with Voss. It was that, while Dimitri found him an amusing companion, he didn’t trust him.

“Charming place, Dimitri,” Voss said. He was holding a leather-wrapped parcel. “I’ve brought you a congratulatory gift.”

“That’s kind of you.” He took the parcel and found a bottle of most excellent brandy wrapped up with a pewter goblet. The cup’s craftsmanship was exquisite: detailed and yet masculine.

He would have set it aside, but Voss smiled. “Do taste it tonight. I’ve never had better. I thought perhaps you’d be able to tell me from whence it comes.” His eyes glinted with mischief.

Always agreeable to a challenge that exercised his mind, Dimitri agreed to the test. Holding his large, wide coat sleeve out of the way, Voss poured him a generous dollop in the pewter goblet, then, with a lifted brow for permission, poured himself a drink of the same in another glass.

Dimitri sipped from the brandy. It was excellent, indeed, and he fully enjoyed the warmth as it burned its way to his belly. Even Lerina’s constant toying with the ends of his hair didn’t detract from the pleasure of the excellent libation.

Voss had noticed, and had been admiring Lerina, of course, for a man would have to be blind not to notice her. But Dimitri saw that his admiration was merely objective, not possessive.

Aside of that, with Dimitri’s marks, as well as his scent, on Lerina, no one would dare make an overture. It was a point of honor among the Dracule that no one fed upon—let alone coupled or otherwise interacted with—one who was marked. Whether it be mistress, servant, or other associate, a mark was a claim of possession not to be violated. Voss might be an arse, but he certainly wasn’t stupid.

And the consideration that Voss might be interested in becoming Lerina’s protector was rejected almost as instantly as Dimitri thought of it. The blond man wouldn’t be interested in the obligation of maintaining one single woman. “Obligation” and “one” being the detrimental modifiers.

As Dimitri rolled a second sip of brandy around in his mouth, he realized with a start that it wasn’t merely brandy. He swallowed, trying to place the additive. It wasn’t blood, but it was nearly as pleasant.

“Have you decided on the location of its vintage?” Voss asked, watching him closely. “Spain.” But there is something else.

His companion’s brows raised. “Indeed. You do not disappoint me, Dimitri. But precisely where?”

“I’ll have to sample a bit more,” he replied, moving now. Lerina’s hands fell to his shoulder, but then she shifted onto the chair next to his and began to toy with the large, heavy buttons on his coat.

Dimitri was, thankfully, distracted for a moment by the approach of Yfreto, who needed his attention in the card room. By the time he returned to his seat after addressing the issue, Dimitri noticed that Voss had just returned, as well.

“Have you had enough time to consider now?” the latter asked, handing him the refilled goblet.

Dimitri sipped again, once again noting the additive. “Salvi,” he said. “You’ve added salvi.” It was an herb mélange that caused a heightened sense of pleasure and relaxation in a Dracule. For a mortal, however, it would put them to sleep in moments.

Voss inclined his head. “Indeed. I thought a bit of additional enhancement might make it all that more difficult for you, expert as you are, to identify the genesis of the drink. But you’ve yet to tell me—where in Spain?”

They were interrupted three more times during the course of their conversation, and the enjoyment of the very excellent brandy. Dimitri was feeling the effects of the salvi, and recognized the same in Voss’s eyes. Just then, Dimitri’s front steward approached, carrying an unfamiliar wooden chest. As he looked up to greet him, Dimitri noticed Voss suddenly go very still.

And as the chest came closer, he felt it.

“My lord,” said the steward, opening the chest to reveal a set of pewter goblets, identical to the one Voss had given him, that Dimitri had drunk from and still held in his hand. “I found these in the front alcove. Hidden behind the curtain.”

With the coffer lying open, Dimitri was assaulted by the presence of a ruby. His chest became heavy, his breath thicker, his limbs slower. It took him only an instant to realize what Voss had intended. He’d been swapping the cups, refilling each new one with brandy, all in an effort to see which cup caused him to display some weakness. Fury rose inside Dimitri as he turned his attention to Voss.

The other man lifted his glass in salute. “A gift for my host. A collection of a dozen of the finest craftsmanship.”

“So that’s what you’ve done,” Dimitri said. It took incredible effort for him to move and speak as if nothing was wrong, despite the fact that his companion was watching him closely. “I wondered. And you expected to trick me thus?”

It was just the sort of thing Voss did, purely for amusement.

Which was precisely why Dimitri had never fully trusted the man.

And why he would not, simply would not show any weakness. The ruby was far enough away, and obviously of an insignificant size, so that he wasn’t completely paralyzed or weakened. Which implied, at least, that Voss meant him no real harm.

And then suddenly, Dimitri saw something else that drew his attention from the chagrined man in front of him.

Cezar Moldavi had just entered the chamber, surrounded by five of his companions.

Another problem to attend to, but one that much more delicate.

Silently Dimitri cursed Voss even more viciously. Not only was he impaired by a good portion of excellent brandy laced with salvi, but also by the presence of a ruby.

“I would throttle you but I’m afraid I have more imminent concerns to deal with. But you are no longer welcome here, Voss. See that he leaves,” he added to the steward, forcing the words out as smoothly as he could.

Voss stood and gave a short little bow. But Dimitri no longer had any interest in him.

“Who allowed that child-bleeder entrance?” he growled, still in his seat. Even Lerina shifted away, seeing the warning in his face as he looked around for his manager. Where the bloody hell was Yfreto? “I gave strict instructions—”

“Dimitri,” said Moldavi, sweeping toward them boldly. “Your place is quite accommodating.”

The other man was slight of build, but neatly groomed. His unwigged and unpowdered dark hair was combed straight down over his forehead in the old style of a Crusader. He had a wide jaw and full lips, and he carried himself as if expecting to need to defend an attack at any moment. His shoulders hunched slightly, but his eyes never seemed to rest in one place for long.

Dimitri merely looked coolly at him. He made no move to rise, nor allowed any inflection into his voice. “I hardly expected to see you here, Moldavi.” Especially since Dimitri had dissolved their business partnership over a year ago, buying out his would-be partner while the building was still in the early stages of construction. “There aren’t any children about.”

“More’s the pity,” said Moldavi. His voice had a bit of a sibilant hiss due to an accident wherein his jaw hadn’t healed properly. Rumor had it he’d been beaten and left for dead by a band of his schoolmates. “Children have the sweetest, purest blood.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Dimitri replied, still concentrating on his breathing. The chest with the goblets was still on the floor nearby, but he would not give Voss—who was taking his time leaving the chamber—the satisfaction of confirming the man’s trick. Revealing one’s Asthenia was akin to acknowledging a flaccid cock or any other private